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Stand Up for Sitting!

Being raised by a former U.S. Marine has its advantages and disadvantages. My father was an incredibly disciplined man. It always seemed my daily and weekly chores enslaved my time; time away from friends, the phone, my drum set, or the TV. I was quite certain he ruthlessly schemed to make my life miserable. And if it were not enough that I did almost all the yard work outside slaving away in the fire-pit of Texas summers, I had one more chore indoor! For many years lying in bed at night exhausted, I could not understand why my sister or Mom couldn’t do this horrible indoor chore. Damn, didn’t I already have enough to do outside! It wasn’t fair, I’d scream in my head. But voicing my opinion of Dad’s commands or his demand for unparalleled quality of work would have been like asking Gunnery Sgt. Hartman (R. Lee Ermey) for ice cream in the movie Full Metal Jacket. No, I’m kidding; but as a the-world-is-against-me adolescent, it sure felt like USMC boot camp!

My #1 chore inside the house was cleaning all three bathrooms to USMC standards. No one item in those three full-baths demanded any less meticulous attention than any other item or bathroom. And having two girls in the house, this was never truer than with our toilets. In the first several years of this duty I think I heard my Dad or Mom yell my name and say “get in here and do it again” about a million times. I’m sure my sister used a magnifying glass to find any shoddy cleaning just to raise it another million.

Out of all my many house chores, cleaning the toilets I hated the most.

The Oh Moment of Humility

Being the brilliant thinker I was by age thirteen, my bitterness for weekly dirty toilets had reached its pinnacle. For perhaps 60 long months and over 3,120 toilet cleanings (times 3 toilets = 9,360 minimum!), I was ready to go lavatory-postal! “Why can’t everybody” I screamed, “use the toilet more cleanly!?” What was everyone’s malfunction?

Happier times at home

After my plea for mercy to whatever porcelain gods were listening, they struck me with an odd realization. Mom and Dad used their own master bathroom. Theirs was hardly ever as filthy as the one my sister and I shared or the one downstairs next to the game room. Why was this? Introspection led to more introspection then another realization: my Mom and sister ALWAYS sat down. Hence, all the “messy splattering” was coming from a totally unrealized culprit! My incredible moment of deduction had landed me in front of the mirror. There he was…. the only one with the plumbing to do the dirty deeds. I glared at myself, “You penile-dummy.” Couldn’t this moment of truth have arrived many years earlier and save me the years of embittered cussing scrubbing!? Couldn’t have just one of my guy friends have said something? Why did I make my most hated chore so much harder for so long!?

The Ah-ha Moment of Brilliance

The strangeness of my predicament could not have been measured and help came from the most unlikely place: my sister. Noticing my weird expression in the mirror and overhearing my groans and why, “Don’t you wish” she explained, “you had a vagina like me?” I wanted to fire back with my deluded pride in having an above-average you-know-what along with an equally potent stream, but she had a point. And then I carried her remark a step-further. No, not that; I was (and still am) happy with my current sex. Holy Russian race horses, why didn’t I ever think of that! What is so damn hard about sitting down!?

I began realizing all the benefits of sitting: A) a hell of a lot less cleaning for me; easy! B) Sitting down for #2 is already one of the simplest pleasures in a man’s life, duh! Why not double the pleasure? C) Sitting down there is no way the lid can fall, slamming-down or clamping down like Jaws, permanently traumatizing a boys vital junk! And D) I really don’t give a fart what high-T alpha-males think about pee-sitting when I have to clean all the damn toilets! They can kiss my sitting-down ass! I am going to be MY OWN Reliever how-EVA I wanna be! United We Sit!

Disclaimer – if there are wall urinals, I will stand because otherwise that’s too damn awkward.

Come one, come all urinaters; big, small, tall, Moms, or Dads…tell me what you prefer and why. Am I a “weenie” for being un-masculine or am I just smarter?

24 thoughts on “Stand Up for Sitting!”

Professor,
I am the oldest of three boys, no sisters.
My mom suffered years of bathroom disasters until she convinced my dad to make me clean our bathroom as well. Right after he bounced a quarter off my bed and made me remake it he would check the bathroom and made me re-clean it. I learned early on that sitting reduced my workload, so yes, I am also a sitter (on my own familiar seat).
As discipline was diluted down the line; my brothers never had the duties that I did. I suspect they have not had that moment of clarity. Especially my cop brother who probably still considers a wide spray a more efficient marking of territory.
Great post!
Red

Red,
Your poor mom! With 3 boys I can only imagine her horror. You damn well better make at least her Mother’s Day super special! 😉
Bouncing quarters off the you-think-that-bed-is-made bed; Hah! Can SO relate to that my fellow ‘boot-camp’ private! And why do I have the feeling that your younger brothers now have wives (or maids?) to clean-up behind them?
Ya know, I’m all about having fool’s fun outdoors with the guys (peeing contests, light-the-fart contests for the biggest cannons, etc.) but when it comes to the Queen’s castle, every bit of my alpha high-T ego shit goes out the window. As you can probably relate, if the Queen isn’t happy, NO ONE is happy — and those sacred panties get “locked up” along with closed knees…if you know what I mean. I have wised WAY up!

That’s a big affirmative. And yes, my brothers’ wives clean up after them. But seriously, once you understand the physics behind the splash, why wouldn’t you just sit and not scatter your excrement where it doesn’t belong?

My hubby sits at night, so I don’t wake up to the sound of noisy pee! Considerate, right? Meanwhile, inquiring minds want to know: “Don’t you wish you had a vagina like me?” Hahahaha! Love your sister!

But in this rare case my sister had a profound point & I have to give her props for greatly reducing my workload! And yes, your hubby is considerate, BUT he would be even more chivalrous if he did it all the time….for the sake of whoever cleans all the toilets.

Hmm. I need to hmm some more (and couple that with a hard espresso) before committing to an opinion about your compromised masculinity (which is bloody hard to do after reading your last blog), but for the time being I’ll say that the revelation about you being a Texan has endeared you to me even more. You know what? Whatever. As long as you wash your hands it’s all good. Thank you for a marvellously amusing read.

Hah! Lady A, sometimes my pragmatism conflicts with social norms, and social norms lose out 99% of the time. Yes, even when it appears I’ve compromised my “masculinity”. LOL

Now unfortunately, I can do nothing about my native state & much of its public impressions. Let’s just say at the risk of stating the obvious, I am usually in the minority of my Lone Star state, which explains my many, many travels around the world. 😉

Public impressions? So, you have a *small* bishop, I take it. And you don’t have a Texan drawl either? Damn, why spoil my fantasy? Do you relish the tension this creates? Of course you do. But then, I too thrive on that kind of tension. Signing out now.

And the HOTTEST most erotic things I’ve ever seen is my ex-wife (who many thought resembled Jennie Garth but with larger breasts) mowing our lawn in tight short shorts & a ‘sweaty’ t-shirt. Oh my horny stars, did I EVER know I was A MAN….well, & she did too when she came inside. 😉